Space Heater
by OMhypothesis
Summary: AU. Severus Snape and Harry Potter aren't on the best of terms, but months of mutual dependence lead to startling realizations. One shot. Warnings: two dudes get cozy in a romantical manner.


****Notes:**

**This is the midnight product of a diseased mind. It doesn't make a lot of sense. Let's just assume that in what passes for my brain, there was an alternate universe where Harry Potter and Severus Snape ended up on the lam for a few months.**

**No, I don't know where the tent came from. Probably Dumbledore left it in a cave for them to find, because this is a mad product of my imagination and that's how things happen in there. **

**Harry's probably about 19, which would have Severus pushing forty. If that's wrong I don't want to be right. The end.****

* * *

The wizard tent proved as eccentric as its former owner. A living space three stories high with windows that reflected the damp walls of the cave outside and an empty fireplace big enough to house one of Hagrid's pets greeted them, and although there was a general air of neglect, the room reflected long-awaited welcome rather than abandonment. Confident the late Headmaster had embedded privacy wards, Snape pointed his wand at the hearth and a fire crackled up to dispel any remaining gloom.

Stairs angled upwards, suggesting one bedroom above and one below. Remembering how cold Potter had been the night previous and reasoning that the downstairs quarters were nearest to the fire, Snape angled his head towards the room above, and Harry nodded, moving towards the small kitchen space to inspect the cabinets. Snape ventured upstairs to inspect his claimed quarters and found a room set in green and silver, as if free-will were a sort of nonsensical comfort he'd agreed to dispense with long ago. He snorted, and managed to not quite slam the door behind him as he left.

Downstairs he found Potter before a wooden cutting board, slicing a red onion with an aplomb Snape would have congratulated in a Potions classroom. "I find myself astounded by your heretofore un-demonstrated skill with a knife," Snape commented bitterly.

"Contrary to popular belief, you are not nearly as frightening as a large Muggle with a belt," Harry rejoined pleasantly, finishing the onion with a thunk. Moving gracefully, the boy lifted the board and dumped the onion into a cast-iron pot, then rummaged in the sink for a clean pair of carrots.

"You've forgotten to peel them, I see," Snape sneered.

"Actually," Potter said, in that same infuriatingly amiable tone, "the skin of the carrot is the most nutritious part. Boiled, it tastes much like the insides, but contains much more vitamins and minerals. I find a good scrub imparts much the same effect as a skinning, without sacrificing the benefits." All the while he chopped, until the vegetable was reduced to a precise series of circles. He dumped it into the pot and added a measure of olive oil before igniting a flame below it with his wand.

Snape no longer had the luxury of questioning why a Potter need worry about vitamins, having spent a good part of the two years previous avoiding Harry's memories of Vernon Dursley. While Snape had a general idea of what it was to go hungry, in his heart of hearts he realized that Potter had a mastery of the subject. He watched in silence as the nineteen year-old executed a perfect mirepoix, adding a teaspoon of evenly minced garlic almost exactly sixty seconds before he lowered the flame. "Will you draw two quarts of water? Thank you," Harry murmured, accepting the measuring cup Snape handed him. The hiss of cold water hitting hot iron was almost a relief.

"What are you attempting? Not that I hold out much hope either way," Snape grumbled, refilling the cup measure from the magical sink. "Lentil soup," Harry replied absently, gazing at his work in progress. "No sausage, I'm afraid, but there's canned chicken stock and split peas. The protein alone should be a welcome relief after so much granola." Snape grimaced at the memory of weeks on the road. They'd snatched at food and sleep and at each other, too tired and irritated to do much else but move. He thought of last night.

They'd holed up in a run-down bit of game-warden's cottage. Snape had built a fire and fallen dead upon a rotting sofa, leaving Harry the only intact bedroom. Come midnight, he'd awoken to a sound, which turned out to be Potter sniffling before the banked fire.

"What in blazes are you about," Snape had managed in a thick snarl. When Potter merely shuddered and drew nearer to the embers, Snape had crawled out of the meager blankets. "If you've woken me with your sniveling, I swear to Hecate I will end you where you sit!" he'd muttered, until the boy (man?) turned to him. "Merlin, Potter, your lips are blue!" Snape had ejaculated, shivering in sympathy.

The former Potions Master had pulled the cushions from the sofa, transfiguring them with the most un-trackable spell he knew, before drawing Potter down into a make-shift mattress and rebuilding the fire. He'd pulled the too-thin frame of the boy's body against him and covered him with what blankets they had, suffering a pang of guilt at how frigid Potter had been.

It was a wonder, Snape thought, that neither of them had fallen ill after months of evasion in Merlin knew what territory. Potter had never been a sturdy boy to begin with, and half a year of stress and sleeplessness had only served to strip him of what little body fat he had.

Snape had drawn the half-emaciated form into the cup of his body and hoped he himself was sufficient warmth. Gradually Potter's shivers had ceased, and the boy had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

Now he added split peas and green lentils to the brew he tended, stirring with a wooden spoon. "About thirty minutes," he determined aloud. "Go on and have a shower if you like."

As it turned out, Snape had very much liked. A hot magical shower after months of mud and sweat was as close to heaven as a man like him was ever likely to get, and the towel closet produced clean pajamas without prompting. When he emerged, still damp and a little flushed from the heat, he was startled to find he'd been in the bathroom long enough for Potter to be sitting at the small table with a bowl of food, idly thumbing through the pages of what looked like one of Albus's ridiculous Muggle romance novels. Refusing to feel flustered, Snape made his way to the stove and ladled a measure of soup into a chipped mug. He prodded the lentils dubiously before having a taste.

Potter proved once again victorious, the irritating brat. The soup was marvelous. Sniffing disdainfully, Snape discreetly added another ladleful to his mug and stalked over to the table.

"All right then, Severus?" Potter inquired politely.

"That's Professor to you," Snape huffed through a mouthful.

Potter grinned slyly. "All right then, _Professor _Severus?" Snape choked a little on the involuntary laugh that tried to escape him. "Adequate," he muttered. He stuffed another bite into his mouth for punctuation, and burned his tongue.

"By God, that was almost a compliment," Potter murmured, turning back to his book with that irritating smirk still firmly in place. Snape wanted to retort with some comment about how much he loathed the boy, but realized with a sinking feeling that his heart wouldn't be in it. His heart hadn't been in it for weeks now. it had been… distracted.

It had been sort of nice, last night. To share space with someone in that way, someone who didn't expect anything more of him than body heat. Someone who wouldn't misunderstand if he woke up clutching his arm. Still, he hadn't liked the blue, pinched look around Potter's mouth. He hadn't liked seeing the boy so cold. He wondered if Potter would get cold again tonight…

"Damn it!" he snarled, and didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Potter glanced up in alarm. "Oh, sod off!" Snape burst out, abandoning his food and stomping up the stairs.

He lay on the bed and glared at the tented ceiling for a while, until he heard the downstairs door open and close. Then he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. An hour of fruitless effort found him back down in the living area, staring morosely at the dying fire.

"Severus," said a soft voice behind him. He flinched. "Severus."

"_What,_" he hissed.

"There's a space heater in my room."

"There's a what?"

"Come see."

He stood, allowing Potter to lead him into his quarters, for reasons he couldn't adequately explain to himself. "See - a space heater."

"That's a muggle contraption?" Severus queried doubtfully.

"Yep." Harry grinned, his teeth brilliant in the dark. "Guess Arthur Weasley's not the only gadget-mad wizard. Well…" A flash of sadness. "At least, he wasn't."

"Harry…" Snape began, a little lost for words.

"Sleep with me."

Snape's mouth fell open a little. "What?"

"Sleep here. With me."

"I…"

"It's warmer here. And… it's safer. Not to be alone." Harry had turned his eyes away as he spoke, but his shoulders were angled hopefully. Severus's eyes flicked helplessly down the long, downy line of his neck. He swallowed.

_No _was what he meant to say, but what came out was - "All right. That's… I suppose that makes sense. Which side shall I…?"

"Here. Close to the heater. I'll be on this side."

"Very well," Snape managed. He took a deep, bracing breath, then climbed into the bed, facing the wall. He felt the box-spring shift as Harry clambered in beside him. "_Nox_," the boy whispered, and the lights dimmed.

There was a long quiet period where the only sound was their mingled breathing. "Severus?" Harry whispered.

"What?"

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Snape sat up. "Oh, for fuck's sake! _Lumos_!" The lights came on. "_Tempus_!" A series of numbers issued from his wand. 3:04 AM. "So you thought _right now_, three in the morning, was a good time to have this conversation?" he railed, looking down to see a rather pale and frozen Potter clutching the sheets near his chin.

"Ah…"

"How long?" Severus hissed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How long have you been _falling in love_?"

"Um… well…" Harry's green eyes tilted down to his hands. "A long time, I guess."

"Do_ try_ for an approximation."

"Maybe… the whole time? Since that third night? Ah, hell."

"And you decided to say nothing until now. Three months in."

"Well… yeah." Harry appeared absolutely fascinated by his own fingernails at this point, and Severus had had just about enough. He grabbed the boy's chin and yanked his startled face up.

"So what you are saying is, we could have been making love every night for three months if you weren't an idiot with a confidence problem."

"I… what? Hey! I am not… you… what?!" Severus snorted angrily, then kissed Harry Potter full on the mouth. Then he sat back on his ankles, waiting.

"Oh," said Harry in a small voice. "Ah. That… that makes more sense. Why you'd be mad, I mean."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Severus sighed irritably.

Harry sat up, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, I do," he said seriously. "Will you come back over here?" The Potions Master raised a single dark eyebrow. "Please?" Harry said, struggling not to grin.

"Bloody Gryffindor." Grumbles not withstanding, Snape did allow Harry to guide him back down, until they were both lying on the bed facing one another. "Let's try this again," Harry murmured, closing in until their lips met. Both men sighed at the contact. The first touch of Harry's tongue sent a violent shiver through Severus's body, so hard it was almost a spasm, and Harry used that moment of weakness to tug him closer, tangling their legs.

"Potter," Snape muttered, fumbling in frustration with the boy's pajama buttons.

"Harry," the boy (man?) corrected huskily. He shifted so that his thigh slid between Severus's and rubbed against him rather… effectively. "Fine, yes, whatever!" Severus gasped out, yanking hard enough that a couple of the dratted buttons popped off and flew across the bedspread. A tousled head thrust into his neck, whimpering and nipping simultaneously, and Severus couldn't help the groan that climbed up his throat. "Say it," Harry encouraged with his lips still against Severus's skin, and he capitulated helplessly. "Harry," he whispered, rocking against that thin thigh. "Harry, Harry, oh Harry…"

A hand slid into his pajama bottoms and closed around his cock. "Fuck!" Snape moaned. "God. Harry. _God._"

"Don't know if we can go too far tonight," said the scarred creature into his neck, while that magic hand settled into a glorious pressure. "I don't have anything… and I've never… oh Merlin yes just like that oh fuck your mouth I've never been… so…"

"I'll brew something. Tomorrow." Snape's ability to construct sentences was rapidly devolving under Harry's firm fingers. "Fuck, Harry, if you don't speed up soon you will have a dead Potions Master on your hand-_humm _yes, that's… oh, that's…"

"Bite my ear, a little. Mmm… come now, Severus. Come for me."

He did, with a startled cry. He came so fiercely his vision went dark for a moment, and only gradually did he become aware that Harry was gentling him through the finish, wringing the last of his pleasure out before withdrawing his hand and staring at his glistening fingers with something like wonder. Severus opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, and closed it again when Harry licked tentatively at the fluid. "Fuck," Severus swore quietly instead.

"Yeah," Harry smiled, dazedly.

"Wretched boy," Snape murmured with helpless fondness, before kissing his way down that too-thin chest to finish what Harry had started.


End file.
